


A Guest of Robin Hood

by Solemini (CyanHorne)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9266108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanHorne/pseuds/Solemini
Summary: In which there is an (in)auspicious first meeting between Vex'ahlia -- alias Robin Hood -- and the young gentleman who would become her lord fair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a one-shot, but the it kept getting longer and certain scenes just screamed for a chapter break so, fuck it, it's got chapters now. And may or may not be the first part of a series. We'll see. :3

A lone carriage rumbled through the dark woods, passing slow over uneven roads and flanked on either side by mounted guards. ‘Twas subtle as could be expected: two horses driven by a clean-faced youth, with no visible banners, standards, or fanfare. Yet, the gulf between common subtlety and _noble_ subtlety was vast indeed. No common traveler could afford such fine, imported wood paneling, nor the purple curtains, nor the new, polished steel of the glistening bolts.

Tucked high overhead, against the branches and trunk of an ancient oak, Vex’ahlia took observed it all. She’d had eyes on this carriage since the moment it crossed the border into _her_ woods. They – her band of outlaws – knew who it contained, had known since it first appeared from the north; their network, on a good week, could hear rumor from even the distant capitol of Emon.

She whistled through her teeth, mimicking the call of a certain bird not native to these cold woods. Her brother, concealed further up the path – nearly behind their target now – whistled back, echoed in turn by the archer stationed on the opposite side. Everyone was in place, then. The trap was set and all were ready.

Tucking her long, black braid under a green hood, Vex knelt on her branch and aimed her bow at a certain point in the road. The very instant the carriage’s shaft passed under that point, she fired.

Her arrow sank into the seam where two pieces of wood met, splintering the hold of the bolt and spreading the gap open wide. A second rapid-fire shot and two more from across the road shattered the wood further until it snapped under its own weight, broke free of the cart and crashed heavily to the ground.

The driver pulled back on the reigns with a surprised yelp, reigning back the suddenly-loose horses as the carriage crashed to a stop. The guards reached for their weapons, but before they could blink a massive, roaring barbarian charged from the underbrush. Grog Little – sometimes called ‘Little Grog’ in an old joke between friends – stood half again as tall as a normal man, dwarfing both guard and horse as he sank his axe deep into the man’s chest.

The other watchman gave only a pained grunt and sank limp against his pommel. Three gleaming daggers protruded from his back – the work of Vex’s brother, Vax’ildan.

Grog gave a mighty roar and the rest of their hunting party – Vex, her brother, and the four best archers from their larger band – cheered back. The axe wrenched loose, spraying both rider and carriage with hot blood. All four horses fled, hauling shaft and dumping the bodies and dragging the poor driver from his seat into the road. He landed hard, wrists- and ankles-deep in mud. Grog seized him by the back of his shirt and lifted, dangling the boy so that his feet swung a full six inches from the ground.

Vex dropped from her tree and stepped into the road with hooded head held high. But before she could issue her demands, there came a deafening _crack_ and _bang!_ and the smell of something sulfurous and foul.

A branch, bare inches from Grog’s left ear, exploded.

Vex’ahlia whirled, training her bow and arrow on the carriage door. It stood open now, a man half-emerged from within. He held onto the roof to brace his unsteady perch on the step.

“That’s enough,” he said into the stunned silence. His voice was deep and steady in spite – or perhaps because – of the many arrows and daggers now trained on his person. “I’m the one you want. Let the boy go.”

This, then, must be the young Lord de Rolo. The new Sheriff of Westrunn’s much-rumored fiancé.

He was not exactly what Vex had expected. Too young for one, though that took her a moment to recognize because his hair was chalk-white. He wore the clothes of nobility, silk shirts and fine leathers, but his cuffs bore ink-stains and his hems were tattered by actual work. He wore no ornamentation, no rings or swords or family crests, only a plain set of polished spectacles. And he was handsome, perhaps even dashing, in spite of what he held.

In his free hand, he carried the strangest weapon Vex had ever seen. She knew crossbows well enough to recognize the stock and trigger, but rather than a bolt or string the top held a gleaming metal tube. Its open mouth yet smoked with the remnants of his attack.

He stepped into the road, pale eyes flickering from tree to tree. He picked about half the hunting party out of their hiding places before focusing again on the giant who held his footman. His strange weapon turned on Grog, and he spoke again. “Put him down.”

Grog sneered, but nonetheless looked to Vex. She shrugged without lowering her bow. They’d never intended to hurt the driver.

Grog let him drop, the distance just enough to jar the boy off his feet. He caught himself on the carriage to avoid face-planting into the ground. Lord de Rolo’s pale eyes left the surrounding bandits only long enough to steady and check on his servant. Then they were back. His strange weapon never wavered its aim.

“Go on, Desmond,” he muttered. “Follow the horses. Get yourself clear.”

“But sir—”

“That’s an order.”

The boy Desmond looked between the bandits and his employer, loyalty warring upon his face with self-preservation. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off when Lord de Rolo barked, “Go!”

Desmond fled, stumbling on the uneven ground as he rushed past Vex. She let him go, sensing the brief moment his eyes turned back in fear and concern before he at last disappeared into the safe shadows of the trees.

Lord de Rolo’s pale eyes trailed around him once more, lingering on those bandits he could see before settling at last on Vex, standing front and center in the middle of the road. He looked her over, no doubt taking in the worn leathers and green hood before concluding, out loud, “Robin Hood, I presume.”

Vex smirked. How she loved her preceding reputation.

“That’s right. And since you know that, I’m sure you can guess what comes next.” She rolled her shoulders, not because she needed the stretch but to remind him of the danger currently pointed his way. “Care to make this easy, my lord?”

“That depends.”

A click. Whatever the weapon was, he’d readied it.

Bows creaked around them as her fellows prepared their shots and Grog again lifted the axe into his grip. Somewhere in the shadows, Vax was sure to have his best daggers in hand.

Vex held steady, holding Lord de Rolo’s gaze.

“Is this to be an attempt on my life?” he asked.

“If it were,” she answered, “you would be dead by now.”

The young lord smirked, and then the smirk became a smile. And oh, in that moment, he was a vision. The handsomest thing on two legs.

He took his finger off the trigger, turned the weapon’s mouth skywards, and raised both hands in surrender.

Vex released her long-held breath, shattering the tension with a summoning whistle. Her hunting party emerged, descending on the carriage as Grog laid claim to the strange weapon. Vax appeared from his shadows behind de Rolo and yanked him away from the carriage. A slight wince from the young lord betrayed the dagger no doubt prodding his back.

As her bandits began stripping the carriage of its wealth from curtains to coin purse, Vex dubbed the situation well in hand and allowed herself to relax. She lowered her bow, allowed herself a small sigh, and returned the arrow to her quiver. There’d been minimal bloodshed, save for the guards, and they’d had it coming as the Sheriff’s heavies. All in all, the raid couldn’t have gone better.

“I should warn you, Robin.”

The deep voice drew her eye back to the young lord, their newest guest. He seemed unusually calm for a man being robbed and bound, particularly since Vax was not being gentle in forcing his arms behind his back. Still, de Rolo’s expression remained carefully blank, even as he scanned Vex as though searching her every twitch for reactions.

“If you intend to ransom me, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Vex raised an eyebrow. Curious words from a curious man. But she hadn’t the time now to spare on curiosities. Better to save this for later.

“We’ll see about that,” she said instead.

If the Lord had a response, it was lost to the burlap sack that Grog forced over his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooner rather than later, I said. "Two months is not sooner, Sol." I know, self. I know...

True to his unspoken terms of surrender, the abduction of young Lord de Rolo went smoothly from then on. The carriage was searched, stripped, and broken down for firewood and scrap, which cleared the road of every trace within a half-hour. The spoils, including their trussed and blinded guest, were carried off the road to the hidden hunting trail, one of many known only to Robin and her band. There, they’d concealed a cart of their own, which they could pull without horses to haul the collected treasure back to their camp. Their home. 

Though the current and previous sheriffs alike had scoured these woods, none ever had the luck or skill to locate the camp, hidden as it was within a thick grove behind several copses of grey rocks and a waterfall that seemed solid only at first glance.

As always, the hunting party’s return was heralded first by whistled birdcalls from the posted guard, which echoed between the stones and above the babbling stream. Those left behind and their associated non-combatants looked up from their tasks of maintenance and training, but before any could move they were instead met head-on by 600 pounds of bellowing muscle and brown fur.

“Trinket! Hey buddy.” Vex pushed back her hood and welcomed the bear with open arms. The rest of the hunting party recoiled, save for Vax and Little Grog. Trinket may have been their leader’s companion, a beloved remnant of her life before Robin and a constant fixture around the camp, but they’d also seen what destruction he was capable of and survival instincts ran deep.

For Trinket’s part, he barely noticed the lesser members as he nuzzled into Vex with delighted chuffs. He was followed closely by a short man in purple and a tall woman with red hair wearing antlers.

“About time you got back,” grumbled Scanlan, his face twisted into a melodramatic scowl. “Stupid bear’s been driving me up the wall.”

“Trinket’s not stupid,” said Vex automatically, but there any rancor was lost to baby-talk as she scratched her bear behind both ears. As a bard, Scanlan was invaluable when it came to securing information and supplies, but he’d also gotten them in trouble with his overconfidence and thus been benched from this hunt with bear-sitting duties, his least favorite activity.

Happily, if Trinket noticed the insults he never seemed to care. He scrunched up his face instead into a happy bear smile as Vex ducked in to kiss his nose. “Were you good for Scanlan, buddy?”

“No,” said Scanlan.

“That’s my boy.”

Scanlan crossed his arms in a huff as the woman behind him – Keyleth, their own personal druid – snickered. Her hazel-green eyes skimmed the returning party, even as she stepped up to close the hanging vines behind them to keep their well-hidden camp. “Anyone hurt?”

“Not a scratch.” Vex beamed, aglow with the rush of a job well done. “Like we thought, an easy job. So now how ‘bout a little help with the catch?”

She raised her voice on the last sentence and whistled through her teeth, calling to those who had gathered but were not of her inner circle. They eagerly converged on the returning hunters with congratulations and on the cart to unload the spoils, giving a cheer when they spotted gold or fine cloth. All the while, Trinket lumbered through the crowd with happy chuffs to welcome their returning friends. Halfway to his Uncle Vax, he got distracted by the spoils cart – specifically, their new guest.

Lord de Rolo had been so quiet on their journey that Vex had almost forgotten they had him. He’d made no effort to free himself, nor had he complained or begged or even spoken to anyone. Even as he pressed back to avoid the grasping hands, his only sound came now as a short gasp of surprise when Trinket pushed a cold, wet snout into his chest.

“No, buddy. That’s not a treat for you.” Vex gently steered the snuffling bear by the neck, pointing him back towards her brother. “That is a _guest_.”

The nearest bandits snickered, including Vax. Only Keyleth frowned.

Truth be told, there was little reason for Keyleth to remain with their band. Her people, the Ashari, were the decedents of an ancient tribe who lived largely apart from civilization, preferring to keep to themselves and their ancient ways that supposedly maintained the world. Yet somehow, Keyleth had landed herself in an eastern lord’s jail cell and fallen into the twins’ debt when their escape facilitated her own. Ever since, she’d refused to leave them until that debt was repaid.

But that didn’t mean she always agreed with their methods, as was clear now when she eyed Lord de Rolo as though he were a kitten cruelly tied in a sack. She chewed her bottom lip, natural do-gooder instincts visibly at war with deference in her eyes.

Vex sighed. For all that Keyleth rarely questioned her authority, she had the remarkable ability to make anyone with even a scrap of conscience feel guilty. “Go on then, Kiki. Get him settled in.”

Relief flooded Keyleth’s features. “Yes, V—Robin.”

She approached the cart with gentle whispers and coaxed the no-doubt disoriented lordling to his feet. Before they got too far Vex had second thoughts and spun around to wag a finger druid-wards.

“ _Don’t_ untie him. And keep the bag on.”

That earned her another frown, but her orders were followed nonetheless, with Keyleth guiding the young lord out of the crowd. De Rolo stumbled a bit when someone – Vex suspected Vax from his smirk – stuck out a leg to trip him. He stayed on his feet thanks to Keyleth and kept his covered head down as she quickly shuffled him away from the main band.

With the guest secured, Vex turned her attention to the spoils, now being sorted out in the center of camp for everyone to see and admire. This was the best part of any venture by far. Today’s haul wasn’t nearly as impressive as some other hunts; aside from the carriage scrap it was mostly traveling clothes and fine bedding. But that would all fetch a good price, and there was also a small chest of silver and gold pieces that would add nicely to their treasury, and even with everyone unloading they hadn’t the chance to go through all the baggage just yet.

She strode through the display, eager to join Grog and his crowd in breaking open chests, but before she got too far a melodious voice caught her ear: “Ho now. What’s this?”

Vex spared a glance and her heart nearly stopped. Scanlan had found Lord de Rolo’s strange weapon. He twirled it, finger hooked in trigger guard, apparently oblivious to how easy it would be to set the damn thing off right here, surrounded by everyone.

“Scanlan, don’t touch that!” she barked, which drew everyone’s eye and got him to stop, but he did so by fumbling the thing and grabbing onto it with both hands.

_Click_ went the trigger.

Vex lurched back, expecting another deafening boom and a hole through the chest. Neither came. The weapon emitted no smoke, no fire, just the hollow _thump_ of the spring-mechanism hitting the metal tube.

Vax had mirrored her motion, and even Grog flinched. Scanlan, who of course had no reason to fear, raised an eyebrow at the lot of them. “What’s with the jumping?”

“Oh for the love of – _give me that_.” Vex snatched the odd weapon by its barrel and stock, careful to avoid the moving parts as she lifted it to her eye. It smelled of clean steel and something like sulfur and charcoal, but was otherwise empty. “It’s not loaded.”

At her shoulder, Vax breathed a sigh of relief. He and Vex both looked to Grog, who shrugged. “Wasn’t me. Guy must’ve been bluffing.”

Vex turned the weapon over in her hands, taking in the fine craft woven into its springs, its stock, its moving parts. A ring of soot coated the tube’s mouth, a testament to the destruction they’d witnessed; otherwise, it lay cold and useless without its single shot.

One shot. De Rolo carried only one shot, and he’d used it to save his footman.

She glanced off towards where Keyleth had led their guest, but they’d since gotten lost in the thick green that cloaked their secret home. Tabling the many thoughts in her head, Vex slipped the odd weapon into the belt at the small of her back and – despite a disapproving glance from Vax – clapped her hands to shatter the tension.

“How’s dinner coming along?”

 

* * *

 

 

The answer was ‘swimmingly,’ and within the hour she’d collected a woven plate laden with fresh bread, smoked fish, and crisp fruit. The sun had begun to set by that point, prompting the band to light fires and gather in the heart of the camp to share in some drinks and the story of the hunt.

Vex left them to it, carrying her share and a lantern to the makeshift “room” of crates and rocks where Keyleth had attempted to make their guest comfortable. There was a lean-to roof in case of rain and a spare bedroll spread out beside him, but de Rolo hadn’t taken advantage of the small comfort, if he even knew it was there.

He sat cross-legged, maintaining a noble poise even with his arms bound and his head bowed beneath the blinding sack. Vex placed the lantern atop the nearest crate, shooed Trinket into standing back, and stepped close, moving silent so he would think himself alone.

He had impressive shoulders, corded muscle well-defined beneath silk. Shoulders like that belonged on a smith, not a pampered noble. His hands, while hardly rough, bore callouses and scars in equal measure. And then there was his youth, more obvious now with the stark-white hair hidden away. He couldn’t be much older than twenty and was probably younger than Vex, yet she knew him to be promised to a woman nearly twice his age.

She took it all in, weighing reality against the image her imagination produced when this hunt had first been planned. She sighed, just heavy enough to draw his attention. His covered head turned slightly her way, and that was the cue.

She tugged the sack off his head, leaving him startled and blinking even in the pale lamplight. The bag nearly took his glasses with it, forcing him to duck forward slightly to keep them from sliding right off his nose. Ice-blue eyes blinked up at her, bewildered by the sudden appearance.

Vex grinned down at him, one hand on her hip and the other displaying the food like a barmaid with her tray. “Fair evening, milord. I trust the accommodations are to your liking?”

To his credit, the young lord smirked right back despite his visible trepidation. “Oh, yes. This is easily the finest kidnapping I’ve ever experienced.”

“But of course.” Vex’ahlia swept into an exaggerated bow as she placed the food on the ground. “Only the best for Grand Lord Sir…”

“Please don’t call me that.”

She raised an eyebrow. He avoided her gaze, his pale cheeks flushing rose.

“My given name is Percival,” he added after a thought. “That will do fine.”

“Percival.” Vex licked her lips. The taste of the name appealed to her, but it wouldn’t do to let him dictate their familiarity. She leaned in close, pushed his glasses up by their bridge and tapped the tip of his nose. “Percy.”

Her guest frowned, or perhaps _pouted_ , but clearly knew better than to argue with the woman holding him prisoner.

With a grin and a wink, Vex threw herself to the ground and settled in alongside him, hips and shoulders brushing. “So then. Percy.” She slid the plate of food into what would have been his reach. “You must be hungry.”

His strained eyeing of the bounty confirmed her suspicions. She picked her fingers across the breads and meats before selecting at last the biggest, sweetest-looking red apple she’d been able to find.

“We don’t make much habit of over-feeding captives. Nobles keep so much easier on an empty stomach.” She plucked up the apple and held it to the lantern-light, examining the skin for bruises or faults. There were none. “But I find myself curious. So, allow me to propose a game.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. Vex held his gaze and brought the apple slowly to her lips.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and for every satisfactory answer I get back, I will give you. One. Bite.”

She sank her teeth into the fruit, taking her sweet time to savor its flesh. Crisp skin. Clear juice. She wet her lips with a darting tongue and turned the final gulp into a soft, pleased groan.

“Sound fair?”

Percival swallowed. “I could hardly complain if it wasn’t.”

Vex’ahlia chuckled and tilted the fruit towards him. He looked from it to her face and back before leaning forward to accept a delicate bite. The flesh she’d exposed gave way, crisp and clean. His eyes closed and his tongue, perhaps unconsciously, darted out to catch the last drops.                      

Throat suddenly dry, Vex pulled the apple away before he could get any funny ideas. She tossed it into her off-hand, reached behind her, and pulled the strange weapon from her belt. “What is this?”

“An invention.”

Smart-ass. She rolled her eyes and held the fruit further away. He sighed.

“A weapon of my own design, utilizing an explosive black powder most often found as a mining bi-product.”

Better. She allowed him another bite. “It all seems rather complex.”

“I should hope so.” Like a proper gentleman, Percy chewed and swallowed before he finished his answer.  “I don’t want anyone else figuring it out.”

“Why go to the trouble? You could just use a crossbow.”

“I’m not allowed a bow. Nor a sword, nor any other weapon.”

She studied him for deception and found none, despite the odd turn of phrase. He proved a fast learner; when she didn’t offer the fruit again, he elaborated.

“My keepers allow me to pursue this project out of academic interest. One has no idea of its intent and the other…”

He trailed off, his mask of intent thought giving way to a scowl. Vex regarded him, then traded the apple for a piece of bread, from which she tore a chunk to pop into his mouth.

“Keepers?” she pressed, once he’d had the chance to swallow.

“Yes. One Professor Stefan Anders and Doct—” His scowl deepened, as though tasting something foul. “ _Sheriff_ Anna Ripley.”

“Your fiancé.”

“She is _not_ my fiancé.”

Vex recoiled, more from instinct than fear – the harsh bark broke through his regality like a dog pushed to bite. Now she was the one being studied, Percival’s lips pursed as he searched her for candor. In the lantern-light, his sharp features cast shadows that flickered between fury and restraint. The food, for the moment, lay forgotten.

“How much do you actually know, about me? About my family, our connections, our history?”

Vex’ahlia sat back to put some space between them and settled cross-legged in the grass. “Almost nothing.”

Percy sighed, but didn’t look surprised as he rolled his no-doubt aching shoulders. He straightened his back best he could and began, with the steady pace of a tutor: “I am the third-born son of Lord Fredrick and Lady Johanna de Rolo, the rightful masters of Castle Whitestone and all surrounding lands. My mother was Empress Salda’s cousin; my father, one of the Sovereign’s most ardent supporters.”

Ah, now those names Vex knew. Sovereign Uriel Tal’dorei was, by all accounts, the one true ruler of the continent and the only man to whom every noble in the nation swore fealty. But threats from beyond their shores – a war between demons and devils in a far-off land – had lured him away over a decade before. He left control of the empire to his wife and their Council, only for the strength of both to diminish as years drew long and upstarts grabbed for power.

“Five years ago, our castle was…sacked. By raiders under an unknown banner.” Percy faltered in his recitation, and the mask again slipped, this time revealing a flash of pain. “Most of our staff died in the attack, along with my parents and five of seven siblings.”

Vex bit the inside of her cheek, tamping down on rising memories of the ruined village she’d once returned to with her brother. Burned to the ground, corpses left to rot, and whispers in the nearby cities of Conclave barbarians from the north, vicious monsters who left none alive…

If there were any cracks in her armor, any hint of her empathy, Percy had the good manners not to point them out.

“The castle, for reasons beyond my understanding, passed into the hands of one Lord Sylas Brairwood and his Lady. My surviving sister and I were considered part of the estate. I’ve been left under watch of their various cronies ever since.”

“So when you said we couldn’t ransom you…”

“I was never meant to survive.” He sighed, let his head lower a moment, then raised it again with a too-casual shrug. “But, if I die in the Briarwoods’ care it would only draw suspicion from Emon. Thus, I imagine they’d find my confirmed murder by the infamous Robin Hood to be very convenient indeed.”

There was no pain in his tone, no sorrow or resentment or anger. Only resignation, the undeniable fact that his fate was no longer in his own hands. Sympathy caught Vex’s breath.

As though sensing the tension’s threat, Percy cleared his throat and shot a meaningful glance towards the plate. Vex rolled her eyes, but selected a rolled piece of smoked salmon – perhaps the finest delicacy her wild woods could offer – as a reward for a more than satisfactory answer.

The unexpected treat startled a pleased groan out of him, rumbling up from low in his throat. Distracted, Vex lingered in the transfer just a moment too long. His lips closed around the tip of her finger.

She pulled back at once, quick enough that perhaps he didn’t notice. She snatched up a piece of her own and they chewed in companionable silence as one of Scanlan’s dirtier songs drifted over on the wind.

Once he’d swallowed, Percy began again, this time with the less gloomy tone of one discussing battle plans or a business venture. “Now, Ripley is another story. She’ll never pay, but she won’t abide the slight either. Kill me, and she’ll invest her every effort in destroying you, even if she has to burn every forest and village in this region to the ground.”

“She cares for you that much?”

“Hardly. I’m a pawn.” He chuckled under his breath. Despite the bitter edge, it was a pleasant sound.  “Marrying me would technically make her part of the Sovereign’s family. A clever woman could leverage that for political power. And she is very, very clever.”

That was certainly true. Ripley had been Sheriff of Westrunn barely a month, and already she’d come closer than any constable before to foiling catching Robin’s band unaware. Vex cared little for politics, but she could certainly imagine what Anna Ripley’s ambitions could entail.

“Then again, the Brairwoods are clever too. Which is why they, as my official guardians, have kept the union an open possibility these last two years. It’s promise enough to keep Ripley from plotting behind their backs, and it’s threat enough to keep me in line.”

“Or so they believe.”

Percy smirked at Vex’s words and gave her the slightest lordly nod of approval, which cinched it. Dusting the last crumbs from her slacks, she rose to one knee and pushed him to lean forward while she worked at the knot binding his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“If you haven’t run from those beasts in five years, I think I can trust you not to run from me.” It took her only a moment to work the knot free, uncoiling the rope from around his wrists and tossing it over the back of a nearby crate. “Besides, you’ve nowhere else to go. Unless you’d rather be the one eaten.”

Trinket punctuated her threat with a deep growl. Percy, who seemed not to have noticed the bear in the darkness, jumped a foot.

Likewise unnoticed was a soft sound, easily mistaken for the rustle of leaves. But Vex knew it to be a laugh as familiar as her own and thus easily picked out her brother sulking against the trunk of the tree and watching them like a carrion bird eyeing its next meal.

She slid the plate into Percy’s reach. “Go on then. I’m tired of games.”

She stepped away before he could answer, though she caught the briefest glimpse of him looking up at her, thanksgiving on his lips as he checked his thin wrists for rope burn. Heart pounding for no reason, she crossed to where her brother was lurking. He bore two frothing mugs of Little Grog’s best ale and scowl.

“You’re letting him go?”

“Just untied him.” Vax’s scowl only deepened, drawing out those awful lines that made him look like their father. Vex rolled her eyes. “Really, brother, it’s not like he’s going to run. Jarret and the guard are always on hand, and you know Trinket will keep an eye on him too.”

Not too far away, Trinket lifted his head and grunted at the sound of his name. The motion caught Percy’s attention too, and his pale eyes darted to pick out the twins by their tree even as he distracted Trinket with an offering of meat.

Vex turned her shoulder on them, putting her back to the tree and taking one of the mugs from her brother. “The ransom’s not going to work. It’s more complicated than that. Ripley won’t pay for him.”

“So let’s kill him.”

“Keyleth would never let us live that down and you know it.”

Vax scoffed but didn’t argue. Out of everyone, he was by far the most susceptible to Keyleth Guilt. “So what are we going to do, ‘Robin’?”

She glared at him. Vax only ever said that name like it tasted bad, and outside of their hunts he only ever used it when he thought she was being unreasonable or stupid. Which she wasn’t.

“Sleep on it,” she snapped back, snatching the other mug from his hand. “Maybe then you’ll stop being such a grump.”

She stalked off, leaving him to roll his eyes at her back and slide back into the shadows like he always did. Good riddance. She loved her brother to death, of course, but she didn’t have it in her to deal with his sullen judgement tonight, not with the way her blood ran cold at his suggestion of murder.

They killed, of course. Nobles, commoners, hired hands, anyone who posed a threat to their operations. Nearly of them deserved it, some in the sense of justice and others just for getting in their way. But Percy wasn’t like that. Her instincts said he didn’t, and she hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring them.

She’d intended only to leave the mug, collect her bear, and head back to her tent for the rest of the night, but when she approached she found herself once more the careful study of pale blue eyes. In the light of the lantern, they seemed almost silver.

And there went her heart again. Vex grinned to cover the change and passed him a mug. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m considering what I should call you.” She raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. “You’ve given me a sobriquet. It seems only fair.”

“You already know my name.”

“I’d prefer something closer to your real name, that’s allowed.”

Vex paused in mid-sip, eyeing him over the mug. He did little to hide his smug satisfaction in taking her by surprise.

“Your friends aren’t used to calling you ‘Robin.’ Your brother struggles worst of all. And if the famous outlaw had been a beautiful woman all these years, I can only imagine that the wanted posters would be more accurate.” He smirked, looking up at her through those white bangs without so much as a shred of humility. “So, my guess: ‘Robin Hood’ is a title. Something passed down through the ranks.”

“Well, aren’t you clever.” Vex leaned against one of the crates and clicked her tongue, coaxing Trinket to rise up and rest his head on her knee for scratches. “You’re right, of course. Before me, Robin was a man named Asum. Before him was a fellow named Kerr.”

She saw no reason to mention that Asum Emring taught her to properly aim at far distance, track with stealth through dense trees and coax secrets from even the most unwilling lips; nor that Sir Kerrek was the first to look at two starved and disinherited runaways and see potential rather than wasted skin. Not even Scanlan, Keyleth or Grog knew those stories.

“I don’t know who had it before that, or if there ever was a ‘real’ Robin Hood at all. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the name, the hope in it. So long as Robin Hood is never captured or killed, Robin Hood lives on.”

Percival held her gaze, head inclined in deference. “And through whom does Robin live today?”

She considered not telling him, but only for a moment. After all he’d shared, it seemed only fair. “Vex’ahlia.”

Percy repeated it, softly, almost to himself like a prayer. Her name on those lips, in that deep voice, sent a shiver up her spine. Still holding her gaze, he lifted the mug she’d brought him. “To your health, Vex’ahlia.”

He drank to her, a long sip that she felt in kind, pooling in her stomach with comforting words. They would speak no more this night, but those eyes would follow her to her tent and linger for hours thereafter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick dramatis personae for anyone unfamiliar with Robin Hood as a myth: Vex as Robin, Percy as Maid Marian, and Grog as Little John are all obvious parallels, but the rest of VM matches up too and surprisingly well. Vax is roughly analogous to Will Scarlet, Scanlan is the bard/minstrel Alan-a-Dale, and Keyleth is here filling the roll of "the Saracen," a Moorish and/or Muslim character that's been a popular addition to modern retellings. 
> 
> Pike, of course, is Frair Tuck, but she doesn't live in the woods so we may see her better further down the line


End file.
